Scrub
by Stevie19
Summary: 'If he's going to die, he's gonna be clean doing it.' High T.
1. Bruce

**High T for implied past rape, attempted suicide and some disturbing-ish images(well, at least to me). Trigger warnings for self-harm and previously mentioned attempted suicide.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice, which is probably a good** **thing**.

* * *

He was scrubbing at his skin, scrubbing scrubbing scrubbing. He had to. He needed it off- off of his body, out of his mind. Forever.

It would never happen if he wasn't clean. He could still feel their hands on him-their cold, metallic hands-touching him, he could still hear their laughter and taunts.

" _You do wonder in everything, pretty bird?"_

" _Bats lets you go out in that tight spandex, it's a wonder this hasn't happened yet."_

" _You were trained by the bat himself. You want this-if you didn't you, would've escaped by now."_

He had to get it off. Off, off, off. Bruce had avoided his gaze and even Alfred hadn't even looked at him. He was a dirty presence in the butler's pristine house. He needed to be clean. If he could just get it all off, they'd be able to look at him in the eye.

 _He was pushed against the bed, hands above his head. They had laughed as he flailed around, pushing themselves on top of him, kissing his neck, his lips, pulling his tights down- they had taken turns and, damnit, he was just a sex toy. He was their bitch, they hickeys proved that._

And his body had reacted. His body had reacted, damn it!

He was a disgrace to Batman, to Gotham, to...to the very hero community. He had to get away. But, first, he had to scrub it all off. He needed to hide it, tuck it away in a folder never to be opened again.

Blood seeped onto the tub, turning the water pink, but he didn't stop. No, no, he couldn't stop. Not until his dirtiness was off his skin, out of his body. Off, off. No, no more…

Just get off!

 _There were girls there, too, cheerleaders about two or three years older than was all a funny joke to them._

A funny, sick joke. He needed their laughter off, too, out of his ears. Not even all the dirt and filth of the Gotham underworld could compare to the amount on his body. He needed to scrub it all off, but the soap bar he had been using was all used up. He used his hands instead, scrubbing his skin with such force it turned his pale, pale(he thought his skin was supposed to be darker than this…) skin pink-pink like the water he now sat in. Crying in the bathtub. Pathetic. He dug his fingernails under his skin, because the filthiness was not just skin deep-no, it was a dark seed planted inside his soul, growing bigger and darker as each second passed. He needed the plant OUT, as far away from him as possible.

The water was more red than pink now(nevermind clear), and he was glad. He didn't want to see himself naked, to marvel at the very sight those men and teens had seen. He just wanted to curl up in a hole to die, he would if he could… His fingernails tore at his delicate, delicate flesh, ripping through, he could see his bloodied fingers through his veined skin.

 _Their hands were everywhere, touching him, their lips over his body, tongues flickering out like a warm, warm(he wondered if that was the only part of them that was warm as microwaved honey, the rest of their bodies seemed so cold…)slimy snake. The cheerleaders were laughing, making snide comments(he couldn't even escape them here, it seemed). He was embarrassed, he was humiliated...and that, that was it. Nothing else happened here, Batsy._

 _Batman didn't believe it. His eyes burned to giant holes of pity into him and it burned-burned more than the fire, burned more than the acid poured onto him so long ago-and Dick felt even smaller. He hated pity, it was belittling. And he had never expected it from Batman._

 _Was he going to be kicked out now? His dirtiness might conflict with The Mission._

Dick tore his hands from under his skin(that brought new meaning to the phrase 'don't let them get under your skin'), covering his eyes that seemed so praised(he never wanted a compliment again;he had too many of those sick, twisted ones for a lifetime), ignoring the blood that trickled down his face. He looked like a monster, and he knew it. He was a dirty, filthy, terrible monster.

He needed the memories O-U-T. He just-he just needed peace, no more trying, no more anything really-He wasn't one to give up, but you could only bend a ruler so much before it SNAPPED. He wanted everything to stop, and there only seemed one way to do that.

((If I'm gonna die, I'm going to at least be clean doing it.))

He expelled all breath from his lungs, thrusting himself underwater. His eyes burned with contact of the water, and his lungs screamed for him to go up and get one last breath. He pushed the instinct down(thanks to training with Batman), gripping the bottom of the slick tub and inhaling.

Cold, now-salty water enters his lungs, sending him into a hacking coughing fit. Yes, yes! He flips himself onto his stomach-can't fail now, failing would mean his brain damaged, the time of last night in the warehouse on a loop. Forever and ever.

All for nothing!

He's choking and little bubbles expel from his mouth. A yellow and black blob stares at him through the red fog, and Dick laughs. The rubber Batman duck, staring at him with pity from up above.

Just you and me now, duck.

" _Just you and us, little birdie, what's it gonna be?"_

He winces. Work, drowning, work…

And, suddenly, to strong hands pull him from his watery haven, pushing onto his chest to expel the water. His body reacts- _Oh god, his body reacts-_ and he coughs out water. He fails around, reaching out for the tub, his hands with skin under the fingernails(no, no, no),pushing to it with all his might. It isn't enough. No, no, not when he was so close! Somebody's screaming.

Then he's one the floor with a towel wrapped around his body, so stifling hot he can't help but think but think of _the bed, the bed, the bed, it looked so out if place in that clichéd abandoned warehouse._ Bruce is there, saying muffled words, and he's so warm…

No. This isn't right. He was trying to get out of this house, to rid them of his filthy presence. Bruce can't touch him, his cleanness(yes, he knows how wrong it is to associate that word with the Batman but, next to him, Batman has the cleanness equivalent of an angel)might be contaminated. No, no.

The person stops screaming, and it's way way way too silent without the extra noise.

But Bruce has his arm around him in a hug(Dick stiffens, even though he's waited for this moment for years, all he can think about are those hands-hands as cold as winter metal, feeling up his body, tracing the scars). It's like he's not even afraid of his dirtiness.

"No," He says aloud, and his voice sounds way too loud, even though it's only a whisper. He tries to break free, but Bruce holds him close. He's hyperventilating, stuck halfway in a panic attack and the real world. "No, no, you don't understand! I need-I need to!"

More murmuring. He must have water in his ears, because whatever Bruce is saying still sounds like he's hearing it from underwater. He shivers and tries to move away. "I need to. It's-it's my fault. I got myself caught. I could've fought them-but, but, I couldn't. Must've wanted it…"

Bruce's warbled voice cuts through him, stroking his still bloody wet hair. So he falls quiet, and limp. It's stifling in the close quarters, and just wants OUT. But that's okay.

He doesn't want to hurt Bruce or Alfred, or anybody else-that's the very reason he's gonna die, afterall. Maybe to make it look like an accident, a little 'misstep' on the field. Their roles are switched, Bruce keeps on talking his nonsense and Dick is silent, considering jumping. He's always wanted to falling is just flying in the opposite direction...yes, yes that would work. Next Tuesday.

Dick grins, despite the pure emptiness writhing and his chest.

* * *

 **A/N: Just a little something I wrote last night. That _Rubber ducky, you're the one, who makes bath time so much fun..._ song stuck in my head. Yeah. R&R. **


	2. Wally

**A/N: So, this originally was gonna be a oneshot, but there was some interest in continuing it, so now it's gonna be a three-shot. Congrats! Lucky you!**

* * *

He hid under his fluffy blanket, it rubbing against his dirty dirty skin. He gathered it around his pathetic little body (oh how it had wasted since he unofficially and unspokenly _quit_ as Robin), and he stared at the walls. They were splattered with bright colors, as a result of Wally and Roy coming over one day when he was eleven. One hour after Wally had complained that his white walls were too 'boring', they were flinging paintballs at the walls with lacrosse sticks.

Now, staring at the brightly colored, impossibly cheerful and bright walls (that painfully reminded him of Robin), Dick prefered white.

It had been who knows how long since the disastrous bath. Dick hadn't said anything, hadn't opened his mouth even to eat, in fear that, if he opened his mouth….something bad would happen. Yeah. It was much stronger in his gut than when he actually thought about it that way.

The only words he had ever said was "Is it Tuesday yet?"

It never was. He couldn't do it just any day, it had to be that day. Everything good happened on a Tuesday. He wanted to add more wonderful luck to be added to that day by ridding the world from his filthy presence.

The only time he ever moved was to go the bathroom. All of water and anything sharp had been Dick-proofed, but that was okay. He just needed to go to the bathroom, so he didn't humiliate himself any further. Then, he waddled back to the bed, still wrapped in the amazing blanket, and continued his staring at the wall.

Same scenes, same splatters. But it wasn't like he was ever actually seeing it.

Suddenly, his vision of reds and purples and greens (and so many colors) are just replaced by one. Canary yellow, standing out like a beacon down the streets of central. Wally. Kid Flash.

"Dude, how do you even see in here?" Wally griped as a way of greeting. Dick, predictably, said nothing, just clutched his blanket and wished for something more sturdy to protect Kid Flash from him. "It's so dark….oh, right. You're a bat."

 _Not anymore_ , Dick wanted to tell him, but didn't. He wasn't Robin anymore. His last connection to his parents had been stripped away from him-by some common thugs, no less-and his very identity had been washed away. He wasn't their son anymore, he was even Dick, much less Richard or a Wayne. Just a filthy little kid living with people who cared enough to love him and were blind to the consequences of it. He wasn't the same little kid who donned the mask and cape five years ago, and that is a scientific fact.

"I'm gonna open up the window," Wally announced and, not a second later, bright (harsh) light filtered through the room.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping the dark blanket around him. Not only was the sudden light excruciatingly painful but, with the blinds open, the outside world could look in. Could see him. They didn't even need to be in same room as him to catch him, he was a disease and surprisingly contagious. They needed to _stay away._ Not because he didn't love them but because they did. They weren't safe around them.

"Go away," Dick hissed, a practically whispered warning to his best friend. It would have to suffice, because his throat felt a sharp pain from the new use in a while(maybe not, it wasn't even Tuesday yet).

"Uh, no way, Dick," Wally said, and the creature he was spat and curled in on himself in response to hearing what was once his name. "I missed you dude, haven't seen you in weeks. No way I'm going away now."

Weeks? But...but that would mean it would be Tuesday by now, surely. Multiple. Bruce and Alfred….they lied to him. How-they wanted to pretend they wanted to keep him. They must've found out, somehow.

"Is it Tuesday yet?" He asked, reciting the words as though memorized for a school play. He needed to know. Surely Wally wouldn't lie to him as well.

"It's Wednesday," came Wally's response. Dick looked down, gloomy at the setback. Wait another five days? No. He needed to do it as soon as possible before the manor was contaminated out of Bruce and/or Alfred's skill level to decontaminate.

"Now come out of the blanket. It can't be healthy," Wally said, and Dick wanted to disagree, again. It was healthy for everybody(but him, but that was alright, because who honestly cared about him?).

But Wally had already pulled it from his grasp, brushing his fingers against Dick's. Dick froze, caught somewhere between the present and a flash back. _Cold fingers, cold hands tracing against his body_ -but Wally's hands weren't cold. Quite warm, actually, as Wally's body temperature was notably above the average human's. _Cold, cold, cold-exposed, tearing off his uniform, the scrape of metal(cold cold cold)-_ The air outside was cold to his skin, once his(and everybody else's) security was ripped away. _December, blue, Whaddya want for New Year's? Oh, I know…._

"Um, Dick? You okay?" Wally asked, not daring to touch the 13 year old to snap him out of it.

 _No,_ he wanted to tell Wally, shivering slightly. He was everything but okay. But all he could do was nod mutely, and have the world remain oblivious to his inner turmoil.

Wally sat down next to him on the bed, obviously a little uncomfortable and unsure. "You don't have to pretend," the speedster was oddly subdued. "I know what happened. Bruce told us."

 _Us._ Dick winced. 'Us' obviously meant numerous people and, in this case, aliens, as 'us' most definitely meant superheroes. Now they'd all think he was weak, defenseless, and let the legend Robin left behind be shamed. His dirty little 'secret' was out, and it only further strengthened his resolve to "end it all".

After Wally left, then. He didn't want to go and scar his friend further than he already was and, besides, Wednesday was close enough to Tuesday.

Through all this, Wally was studying him intently with those damn annoying jade green eyes of his. Probably waiting for a reaction, which he wasn't gonna get. Not today, not ever.

"No response, huh?" Great. Now Wally was sad. Boo hoo. "I won't expect you to not come out of that changed, but just know that you're not alone. You're never alone. So….just give me a call, and I'll be there for you in a flash, okay?"

Dick recognized that was the moment to slip into the role of Robin, to smile at KF and say something along the lines of _Thanks, but no need. I'm whelmed._ (because everything was better and convincing when the word 'whelmed' or 'aster/astrous' was tacked onto it) But the role didn't come as easily to him. Instead, he just wanted to cry.

He somehow managed to keep a stiff upper lip, staring at the mesmerizing splatters and patterns that decorated his walls. "Goodbye, Wally," ( _Stay whelmed)_ He said instead, amazed at how detached he sounded.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Wally sighed, and Dick knew Wally enough to know it was an angry sigh. "Fine, be that way." Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Wally throw his hands up in the air, an exaggerated sign he made when angry or disbelieving. "Here I am, trying to be a good friend and check on you. But, if you want me to go, I will. Bye, Dick. Have fun rotting in the loneliness of your own room."

And then he was gone, the only remnants being the indent on the bed and the disturbed papers floating back down to the ground. Dick sat still on his bed; a statue, watching. Bruce would probably be mad at the littlest speedster for coming to the manor in hero getup (with secret identities and all) but, hopefully, he would be up-too busy puzzling over Dick's strange suicide to be mad at Wally (last week, he thought that Bruce would be upset with that misplaced love, but now he know otherwise. He had lied one time too many to truly care)

Then he lay down on the bed and cried. Sob, really, which seemed like an appropriate turn of events. The window was still open, but he'd fix that later. He'd fix it all later but, right now, all he wanted to do was some proper grieving over everything.

What Wally didn't know was, when Dick said 'goodbye' to him, it was the final goodbye.


End file.
